


Negotiations

by Trollvine



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Anal Sex, Dominance, Gangbang, Humiliation, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:21:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22140580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trollvine/pseuds/Trollvine
Summary: A young man's first foray into how politics are done at the highest level
Kudos: 12





	Negotiations

**Author's Note:**

> The result of one caffeine fueled weekend on my part.

The new rising moon splashed soft, silvery light on the polished floor of the chamber. Around the edges of the room, candles flickered dimly, creating shifting shadows with the silken tapestries that hung at intervals around the walls and moved gently in the evening breeze. Between them were small wooden tables, holding objects of craftsmanship as fine as anyone could want, as well as two large tables, one on either side of the chamber, set with dinnerware in constant readiness for the arrival of many guests. At one end of the chamber were a set of heavy wooden doors, worked with intricate, polished steel fittings and decorated with exquisite carvings. 

Facing the door across the room against the other wall was a massive throne of dark wood, raised a few steps up on a platform of polished wooden slats. A family crest was worked in gold above the seat, and a pair of stained glass windows sat in the wall on each side. The windows depicted scenes of regal splendor, details finely worked in a rainbow of colored glass.

On the rug between doors and throne paced Ianden Moonwing, four days patriarch of the house of Moonwing of Quel’Thalas. He was young, but his hair was white, a marking his bloodline was famous for. His frame was lean from an athletic life, and his motions sinuous and smooth, even in his anxiety.

His father was in the tomb with his wife, Ianden’s mother, and his only other sibling, his sister Ialwyn, was across the continent with the majority of the armed men in service to his house. The coming trials would be faced by him, and him alone. 

He had not even had his proper coronation yet, the silver and sapphire crown sat not on his head but on a table next to the throne. But already an ultimatum had come before him that might preclude that possibility from ever happening. 

Thaldar Lightburn had come from the north east, leader of his house which controlled a far superior tract of land. The house of Moonwing was wealthy through generations of trade, but house Lightburn ruled the richer forests and plains, in addition to a realm nearly four times the size of Moonwing’s. Their power was in natural resources, horses, and men, and for years Thaldar Lightburn had coveted the trade routes controlled by house Moonwing. 

Ianden’s father had wielded great political influence, and had been a man of considerable will, determined that his house should not be folded into the Lightburn family, and his children inherit a realm they could direct for their independent benefit. 

But Ianden was young and untested, barely came of age when his father succumbed to a tragic illness. He had little to no courtly training and no prominent connections to other houses of influence. As far as noble support, he was alone. 

When Thaldar arrived at the gates of Ianden’s ancestral home, he had an army at his back, and a blunt proclamation. House Moonwing would swear fealty to house Lightburn, pay tribute and tithe, and grant untaxed, unrestricted access to the river ports and woodland highways of trade to house Lightburn merchants, courtiers, and soldiers. 

Ianden had his sister, Ialwyn, who lead the few soldiers of house Moonwing, who may have been able to muster the pomp and posture to scare off Thaldar with the promise of proper bloodshed against determined Moonwing loyalists defending their homeland. She had stood by her father against Thaldar, venomous in her scorn and backing up her father’s words with strength of arms.

But Ialwyn and her thousand spears were nearly a month’s hard riding away to the west on obligation to allies. She could not help Ianden now. 

Ultimately he had had no choice but to fold. Call it weakness or empathy, he would not risk the lives of whatever untested recruits he could muster from his people. House Moonwing would fold without a fight. 

Now, alone in his chamber that was supposed to be the seat of his authority, he awaited Thaldar and his lieutenants, where they would draw up a treaty of submission to be signed in front of his people in the courtyard at dawn. 

Ianden should have had a chancellor, advocate or some friend with him, schooled in the legal and diplomatic ways needed to negotiate. But he had no intention of prolonged bargaining or a rise on contentions, and he prayed this would be over as quickly and painlessly as possible. 

There was a knocking at the door, and he stopped his pacing, standing right before his throne. His heart leapt to his throat, but he managed to compose himself and bade the knocker enter. 

He was expecting Loryn, his chief of house staff, guiding and leading visitors as he always had. 

But through the doorway came Thaldar Lightburn, several armed captains in tow, bearing the livery of house Lightburn, and Ianden’s composure wavered. Thaldar advanced across the long room, his black cape swaying behind his confident stride. He was taller, older, and muscular, reddish orange hair bound in a ponytail behind a face with strong, well formed features. His clothing was of a practical cut, but even at a distance of several paces Ianden could see the quality of the material. 

He stopped a few paces from Ianden, but did not bow in greeting, merely inclining his head. There was a quiet click behind them, and Ianden saw one of Thaldar’s captains had closed the double doors again. 

“Ianden.” His voice was low and rough, the tone practical and perhaps slightly dismissive. He did not refer to Ianden with the rank of lord, and Ianden fought twin desires to stand on protocol, and to avoid angering Thaldar by correcting him. 

Ianden trembled for a moment, then nodded in return, hoping no one noticed. He suddenly felt very alone. 

“My lord Thaldar.” His voice almost shook as he said it. 

Thaldar smiled, a wolfish, predatory smile. He sized up Ianden, slowly removing his black riding gloves. The silence that slowly grew between them was uncomfortable, and Ianden shifted his weight a bit. He was host here, but felt like things were already out of his control. He cleared his throat and motioned to one of the huge dining tables. 

“Shall we discuss the document to be drawn up?” 

Thaldar silenced him with a wave of his hand. “The document is already drawn up. You have but to sign it, tomorrow in the central square.” 

Ianden blinked. This was not the plan that had been outlined in the letter sent him days ago. He was a expecting a long night of working fine details and stipulations, but the signing was supposed to take place tomorrow, in public. But if so why had Thaldar come here to meet tonight. Surely it wasn’t a friendly visit, the man’s imperious attitude made it clear he considered such pleasantries below his station. 

“Then forgive me, but I must ask… why are you here?” 

Thaldar walked slowly to Ianden’s left, circling around the younger man, who followed him with his head but held his feet. There was a tension in the older man’s movements, an almost palpable energy, and Ianden did not wish a sudden movement to bring a rash drawing of weapons. 

Thaldar vanished out of his line of sight, but he could feel the older man, close behind him. His own body trembled in anticipation of whatever was going to happen next, with an unbearable bracing for the sound of a dagger being drawn. Then the weight of hands on his shoulders, the intake of the smell of leather oil and sweat, and the imperious voice in his ear. 

“I am here to accept your true submission.” 

The hands on his shoulders gently turned him, and he looked slightly up into Thaldar’s eyes. The older man looked at him with an expression of amused distain. 

“I can have all the documents in the world drawn up and signed, with all the pomp and ceremony. With all your house and subjects of the city to witness it.” The grip on Ianden’s shoulder tightened. 

“But we are a race of warriors. Submission cannot be brought on from a name on a document. It will be done through a breaking of your pride. When we are through here, you will never raise a hand or an army against me. You won’t even be able to look me in the eye.” He stepped close again, and inclined his head. 

“Now get on your knees.” 

Ianden’s heart raced in his chest. He was helpless, surrounded, and very probably the fate of his city rested on his willingness to comply with whatever he was ordered to do here. He was truly powerless now. 

He sank to his knees, slowly, resting his hands on his thighs. Behind him he heard the snickering laughter of Thaldar’s cronies, but he tried to ignore this, lifting his head and looking Thaldar in the eyes with what he hoped was something of salvaged pride and defiance. 

Thaldar looked down at him with cruel detachment, his hands sliding to his own waist, deftly undoing his belt. Ianden swallowed hard and shut his eyes, his pretense of defiance replaced by his natural inclination towards shyness. 

“Open your eyes, Ianden.” Thaldar’s voice came to him from above, and with a deep breath, Ianden forced his eyes open. 

Thaldar’s cock hung in front of him, impressive despite being only half erect. The older man had fished a tiny bottle of pale green liquid from his belt, uncorking it, and as Ianden watched, he poured the minty smelling liquid gently over his own shaft, from tip to base. Ianden was petrified, but felt an absurd twinge in his own loins, which nearly distracted him from his current position until he felt Thaldar’s hand on his face, tilting it up again to meet his own. Ianden flushed again, realizing he had settled his eyes quite comfortably at Thaldar’s cock, waving so rudely in his face. 

The older man’s thumb worked its way into Ianden’s mouth, forcing it open slightly. He smiled, patting Ianden’s face gently. 

“Lick me clean, princeling.” 

Ianden blushed properly now, and a real throb of desire pulsed into his own cock, still mercifully hidden beneath his own clothes. 

Thaldar did not give Ianden the chance to be shy. He pushed forward with his hips, aiming the tip of his shaft to Ianden’s trembling lips. 

Ianden opened his mouth automatically, while he tried to pretend he was back with Ghalan, his old squire, in a private corner of the stables late at night. The green liquid tasted minty as well, removing at least one unpleasant aspect of this degrading task. The liquid tingled on his tongue as he gently probed the head of Thaldar’s quickly hardening shaft. 

The older mans hand left Ianden’s mouth, only to grasp Ianden’s snow white hair, entwining his fingers in a slow but savage grip that brought an involuntary moan from Ianden’s lips.

“Oh?” Mused Thaldar. “Is that the sound of desire, princeling?” He applied pressure to the back of Ianden’s head, pushing the young man onto his shaft with his own grunt of pleasure. For a split second, Ianden resisted. Then his lips opened fully, and he took Thaldar into his mouth properly. 

The tingling sensation from the minty concoction was spreading quickly, into his mouth and throat and creeping up to his head. His heart was beating rapidly now, and he wasn’t sure it was all from fear or anxiety. His tongue gently wriggled side to side, feeling the veins pulse gently on the underside of Thaldar’s cock. 

He kept working, not forgetting the order to clean the minty liquid from Thaldar. How thorough he was supposed to be, or if that had just been a pretense to get his mouth open he wasn’t sure, but decided again to stay on the side of caution and follow orders. He tried moving his tongue more, and softly worked his lips, unable to pull off the throbbing shaft because of Thaldar’s hand gripping his head tight. 

Ianden was no stranger to this act though, and relaxed his throat as Thaldar pushed him deeper, keeping his tongue wriggling. His head was tingling fully now, and whatever this liquid was it was quickly tearing down his inhibition as his own cock hardened in want. He worked with more energy now, trying to rock his head from side to side and reach all of Thaldar’s shaft, his tongue lapping up the minty tasting drug. 

He was absorbed in the task, and only when Thaldar laughed softly did he realize the older man had released his head, and he had been bobbing and working his mouth on his captor’s cock of his own designs, and desires. He tried to pull back, snatching a breath through his nose, but Thaldar’s hand clapped the back of his head and pushed him back down, both of them releasing noises of aching delight. 

Ianden couldn’t ignore his own pulsing ache below the waist. His face burned with humiliation at his current predicament, but his own desires were rising, slowly drowning his pride as he knelt before his rival, servicing him with ever growing willingness as his head swam hotly. 

He might have been doing better than he thought, and before too much more time had passed, Thaldar stepped back, withdrawing his shaft from Ianden’s lips. Ianden fought an urge to follow with his head, but could not hold a small disappointed moan. Thaldar grinned down at him.

“No worries, princeling. You can still earn your treat. But my men have earned one as well, so you’ll oblige me by seeing to their desires.” 

Hands were suddenly all over Ianden, and he realized he had not even heard the footsteps of Thaldar’s men approaching him from behind. They hove into view as a swirl of colored clothes and grasping hands. One squeezed his face, probing his mouth with a finger and a laugh. Two hands grabbed his backside with an approving slap, and Ianden felt the strongest surge yet of desire. 

The men were talking, crude jokes and dismissive taunts, but Ianden was having difficulty focusing on their words, and his sight was a hazy smear of vague figures. Whatever the minty drug he has just been exposed to, it was tearing away his inhibition, and for as much as this was supposed to be torture, Ianden had been granted one of his most secret desires. 

He couldn’t fake disgust anymore, though something told him he should resist, or at the very least resent. He arched his back, sticking his tongue out and grasping with his hands, searching for the exposed manhoods of the crowd around him. They were eager to help, and as hands rent his clothes he realized his nerves had seemingly grown all the more sensitive. The rough feel of fingers and leather, the cool air on his increasingly exposed flesh, all sent quivering waves of feeling through his body, and he gasped again and again until the head of a new shaft plunged past his lips, cutting off his breathy exhalations with a satisfied moan.

The man had placed his hands on Ianden’s head, but there was no need to be forceful as the prince took to his task eagerly, opening wide and bobbing his own head back and forth. There were fresh waves of laughter and jeers, but Ianden was beyond caring. His heart beat in excitement as he felt a cool liquid being poured over his backside, a none too gentle probing and a loud exclamation that “It’s not his first time!” 

A moment later one of his audience had stepped up behind him, pushing himself inside with an audible groan of pleasure, and Ianden, first son of the proud and ancient house of Moonwing, was pinned on his knees between two captain of his enemy, servicing them with eagerness in his own throne room. 

The feeling behind him was wondrous, and Ianden rocked his hips in lustful time with the thrusts of the man, who seemed quite eager to take advantage of the fact Ianden was clearly experienced with this. Ianden jumped with a moan each time his captor struck his backside, which he clearly enjoyed doing, their hips working in time like some old lovers working with familiar ease. 

The pace of both men increased quickly, and soon Ianden had to abandon his own movements as the powerful sensations robbed his body of the will to respond to his commands. He posed helpless for a moment, the two men using him before twin cries of pleasure came to his ears, and he felt each pulsing shaft of the two men as they gave the last few thrusts of their orgasms. He swallowed reflexively, earning a pat on the head that was almost affectionate as the man pulled out. 

His partner behind him pulled out as well, and Ianden was sure he would be replaced soon, but a pair of hands grabbed him under the arms and lifted him to his feet with little effort. His legs were shaking and unsteady, but he was quickly ushered to a nearby table, which one unseen man swept clear with his hand, cups and silverware clattering to the floor. 

Ianden was spun around, face to face with a large man that stood nearly a foot taller than himself, red locks of hair falling down in front of his face. His back was to the table, and the man met his gaze with a smirk, his green eyes lustful, before reaching down and grasping Ianden’s backside with his hands, lifting the smaller man up for a moment, before depositing him on his back on the table without ceremony. 

With nearly as little warning, the man parted Ianden’s legs and pushed himself into his conquest. He thrust deep, drawing a gasp from Ianden as he grabbed his ankles and forced them back, gripping them tight as he began to thrust with little buildup, his strokes coming fast and going deep. Ianden could only gasp, struggling to adjust himself to receive the man as easily as possible. 

He had only just managed to do this before his wrists were grabbed, by the same person or two different people he couldn’t say. His head was forced to the side by a strong hand, and a new shaft was thrust deep into his mouth from someone standing at the edge of the table. 

Ianden’s heightened senses had not dulled, and each thrust of the man currently using his backside sent a burning wave of sensation through his body. The owner of the shaft in his mouth had gripped his hair tightly, and phantom hands slapped at his thighs and torso, but any pain brought but these touches melted quickly into throbs and ripples of pleasure. He squirmed and writhed as he was fucked, and he must have enticed the large man for with a few more strokes he gripped Ianden’s thighs and came deep inside him with one last thrust, grinding out his orgasm before pulling out slowly, patting Ianden’s own aching cock with mock affection. He was replaced almost instantly by another, a man Ianden could vaguely see through his hazy vision, with a blonde ponytail perched high on his head. He was thinner, but stepped up and forced his way into Ianden, his movements rough and fast. 

Time seemed to drag by slowly, as Ianden’s world melted into a whirl of flesh and sweat, of savage motions and primal breathing. He was put on his knees, held against the walls, bent over a table, pushed back to his knees, always with multiple hands lifting, pushing, grabbing. His desire was in full flame and he served these men with complete willingness, craving their attentions and passions with unashamed and open desire. His mind was reeling, and he struggled to form words and speech, responding to comments and commands with gasps, whimpers and moans of varying degrees of ecstasy. 

At some point his hands were bound behind him, but Thaldar’s captains had little trouble moving the slender young man into whatever pose they desired. They sneered at his moans, pet his head, dipped their fingers in cups of wine and laughed as he lapped and sucked at them with excited eagerness. 

He started to recall them in new positions, and what they liked. It was a man with short cropped black hair, wiry but energetic, who most enjoyed grasping and squeezing at his backside. The stocky man, generously endowed, bent him over no less that four separate pieces of furniture, and seemed to enjoy fistfuls of the smaller man’s soft white hair. The oldest seeming of them, tall and muscular with heavily scarred hands, pushed Ianden to his knees again and again, or else positioned himself as often as possible to make use of the prince’s now eager mouth. 

He was grabbed suddenly, lifted between four men, and brought forward, before his own throne he realized. Thaldar Lightburn lounged there, a cup of wine in his hand, a soft smirk on his lips, and his cock out of his trousers, half erect as he sat on the throne. Ianden was placed on his knees, before his own seat of power, and he looked up at Thaldar, panting from the thorough attentions of the crowd of men behind him. Thaldar looked down at him, his arrogant smile almost indulgent. 

“You know what I want.” 

He sipped his wine, and Ianden watched for a moment, then looked back down at the older man’s cock. His hands were still bound, but after another moment, he leaned in close, kissing the tip of the shaft, then opening his lips, prodding with his tongue and pushing himself down, whimpering happily as his mouth filled. 

The ache of his own shaft was driving him mad, as it seemed not one of his captors had taken an interest in servicing their conquest. But the unreleased tension was driving him mad, fueling his exertions as he pushed his head back and forth, his lips and tongue working feverishly, his backside raised shamelessly in full view of the men behind him. 

Thaldar suddenly gripped his hair with a laugh, pulling him off his shaft and dragging Ianden up with a yelp of pain. The two men were face to face, Thaldar composed and reserved, Ianden gasping and tearing up from the pain of the older man’s hand twisting his snow white hair. He was barely holding himself up by his feet, partially laying across Thaldar’s lap. 

Thaldar reached down with his free hand, gently taking hold of Ianden’s aching cock, drawing a pleasurable gasp from Ianden’s lips. He stroked up and down slowly, the skin of his hands rough, but the sensation was incredible. 

“Look at me.” Thaldar’s voice was soft and low, and Ianden opened his eyes, meeting Thaldar’s gaze. He tried to control his breathing, but the older man was surprisingly skilled at this, or perhaps it was the drug. Ianden was too far gone to consider. 

“Would you like to finish, princeling?” 

Ianden nodded, his head bobbing quickly. Thaldar had released his grip on Ianden’s hair, but kept his hand in place, cradling the younger man’s head. 

“Beg me for it.” Thaldar had not increased the pace of his hand, in fact slowing his movement up and down the younger man’s shaft, but kept the grip firm. Ianden’s pride was gone, drowned in waves of desire, and he did not hesitate for an instant. 

“Please…” 

Ianden could not say more. The tension had been building since he had first fallen to his knees before this man, building steadily until he had been robbed of his power of speech by the drug he had consumed and his own desire. He tried to work his mouth into more speech, but only managed the same formless moans that had drawn laughter from the men behind him. 

Thaldar laughed softly, his pace increasing quickly, and in another instant, the younger man’s cock pulsed in his hands, and Ianden finished, noises of bliss coming from his mouth, his eyes a sea of relief and pleasure, still locked with Thaldar’s, cold and triumphant. 

Ianden rode out an incredibly long orgasm, his hips trying to thrust into Thaldar’s hand as his body trembled and contorted in the grip of powerful waves of sensation. It was nearly a minute before his breathing started to slow and deepen, and he was nearly able to try to compose himself. His mind tried to pick up the pieces of where he was, what was happening, and what had truly taken place over the last hour or so of his life. 

There was movement above him, and through his blurred vision he saw Thaldar standing over him, the cup of wine in his hand. With slow, deliberate motion, he poured the dark red liquid on Ianden, splashing it into his face and onto his narrow, heaving chest. There was more laughter, but it seemed to be moving further away, and Ianden heard footsteps moving towards the door. 

Thaldar knelt down next to him, gently patting his face. The man was as pleased with himself as ever, but there was something in his eyes that was almost affection. 

“I’ve yet to be satisfied, prince. But I doubt you’re up to the task just yet. It is not often my men get to sample royal flesh.” He grinned, his eyes slowly moving up and down Ianden’s body. “They seem to have taken a real shine to you.” 

Something stirred in Ianden’s chest, a hot shimmer of emotion at the older man’s words. With the slow clearing of his mind, he realized it was not the rush of anger that was all but to be expected, but a tinge of pride. In that moment, he would have fulfilled the obligations that had been set upon him, for his land and his people. He would have given himself to Thaldar and as many other men as his cruelty could bring to bear, to satisfy this absurd contract. 

But this would be denied him. Thaldar laughed, his hand moving up to run across the snow white tangle of Ianden’s hair. 

“Good boy. I see that burn in your eyes. Your father left you a bit of the old iron after all.” 

He rose, stepping over the prostrate form on the floor and making his way to the door. 

“Until tomorrow, Lord Ianden.” 

The door closed with a soft, heavy thud of wood in the frame. The room was silent, dark except for the gentle flicker of candles, and silent, save for the still labored breathing of Prince Ianden. 

“That was hard to watch.” 

The quiet voice came from the shadows behind the throne, in a corner of the room oddly lacking any source of light. Ianden turned his head, and a tapestry rustled as a young, slim elf unfolded himself from the niche in the wall he had been hiding in. He was slender and medium height, clad in close fitting black garments, simply cut like those of a servant. His hair was blonde, tied back in a short ponytail behind his head. 

He padded quickly over to Ianden’s side, kneeling beside him and covering his stomach and thighs with a black cloak, and cradling Ianden’s head in his lap. Ianden blinked as the young man produced a small cloth and began cleaning the wine drops from Ianden’s face and chest. He groaned now as the full extent of his soreness took over from his heady energy. 

“Hard to watch, you say?” His jaw and throat protested his speech, and his new companion smiled grimly. 

“You’re right, apologies. We’re doing what we can, I promise.” 

Ianden groaned again, but nodded. “I still have to thank you, and your lord. I feared the worst, really.” 

The young man smiled and clasped Ianden’s hand. One his neck, Ianden saw he wore a black collar, with a polished metallic tag inscribed with something in the old elvish language. 

“Calm your fears, my lord. House Greentree is here.”


End file.
